Assassin vs Predator: A Dance of Killers
by SabbyNeko
Summary: This series has been DISCONTINUED! However, several chapters remain unreleased. I'll post the remaining chapters some point soon, but thank you all for the encouraging reviews. I enjoyed this story, and I'm sorry that I have to end it early.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

She was so close she could taste the scent of his musk on her tongue.

While the sky was dark with clouds, the slate rooftops and green canals were brought to life with vivid colour, the crackles and pops of fireworks regularly sending the courtyard into stark view. The courtyard was as if a mirror of the sky, a plain and featureless floor given energy by the dozens that twirled and laughed, wearing all the colours one could think. Merriment and music, the smell of wine and gunpowder, the ever present stale filth of the canals for once blissfully covered, while the heat and the closeness had her uniform clinging to her skin.

Her senses were being assaulted in every way, and it only heightened her concentration... her excitement. She kept it hidden though, keeping her cool. The dancers parted for a second, and her target was visible to her, and his eyes trailed over her for a second before the crowds surged once more and stole him from view. Her stomach clenched at the eye contact, but he didn't seem to suspect. Her Creed robes had been forgotten, instead wearing a beautiful but typical dress of light green, a mask held to her face, white and decorated with glittering little bits of tinsel, her mane of ginger hair for once let down. A paper fan was in her other hand, a new fashion that was all the rage in Venice, and yet so practical in this heat.

While her costume may have seemed rather eye catching, she was as if a fish among a school, seen, yet never noticed.

The music picked up, the peoples feet changed pace to match, and with it, her heart began to slam. Every twirling trade of partners brought her a few more steps towards him, until they were seperated by a space of barely both of her arms. She tried to look disinterested, but her light green eyes flashed, sweat forming upon her brow. And then, he passed his current woman on, and she was twirled into his arms. This, she had expected, yet she could not have helped a second of panic deep inside her stomach, her bowels clenching for nary a heart beat, before she began the steps.

Her target, Benedict Friviosa, was drunk and unshaved, though she got the impression he might have been quite the gentlemen. Manners or not, his extortion ring had poked it's head out, and all she needed to do was cut it, then make sure the body died. If it grew another head, she'd be there, waiting for it... As he tipped her back, she fanned herself, giving him a wink, and tested the Hidden Blade in her sleeve as she was pulled up into a twirl, making sure it worked, getting a feel for it, as she always did before the kill. Her fan would help add another layer of concealment, and all she needed to do was twirl to the next partner, and he would stumble to his next woman with his life bleeding out over his top, neck severed.

She was tipped back again, and something caught her eye... a shape, standing stock still on the roof tops, like a shimmer of air. The fireworks that erupted in the sky gave the area an odd twinkle, like a fire viewed through crafted glass. But before she could concentrate, it had slipped away. She put it down to her imagination, but she felt watched... and she had always trusted her instincts. For the briefest second, her mission slipped from her mind.

The music picked up, their feet pounding the floor, the speed of their twirls increasing, her pulse racing to match, and with each step, she flicked the blade out under the fan, the swish and clack matching the hammering of the dancers. She counted down, knowing exactly when she would be passed on, twenty seconds she counted... he laughed and threw his head back, hand groping down her dress, almost to the knife belt at her hip. 10 seconds, she counted, her eyes locked on his throat. 5 seconds... her Blade was matching her heart beats tempo.

And then, something happened.

There was a shimmer of air, just in the corner of her vision. Her body naturally tensed at the sensation of movement, and suddenly, Benedicts eyes flew open. His neck exploded outward, as if razor sharp wire had been yanked tight, severing the jugular and splattering her in his blood. The head was yanked violently upwards, and to her horror, she saw the head seem to rise up out of his body like a snake, his spine crawling out. The limp body collapsed to the floor at her feet, and the shimmer behind it regarded her... at least, she thought it did. An invisible hand caressed over the still slick spine, and a series of clicks sounded, like the hollow wooden shakers the jugglers had used.

It took a second for the screams to register, but she was paralyzed with a new sensation she had never felt before. She had touched on it's edges, but this was the first time she had felt real, true fear, locking her legs in place, keeping her hands from doing as her mind instructed. It was only when she was shoved by a fleeing woman that she was brought out of it, and the shimmer was gone.

With the crowds dispersed and the guards converging on the scene, she found her place of solace on the roof tops, where she usually went after a job was finished. But this time, she was here for another reason... for comfort, reassurance, things she hadn't quite understood. She was shaking all over, her eyes still wide and disbelieving. She looked at her hands, covered in blood, and then down to her dress. It was not like this was the first time she had ever seen blood, but never had she seen violence quite like that, and the feeling of the unseen aggressor shook her to her core.

What had she just witnessed?

Under the streets, in the reeking humid space of the canals, a dark figure worked. Strange devices rested on hand carved shelves, indentations in the walls. The broad shoulders blocked out a large segment of green tinged stone, long hair flicking now and then as he reaching out for certain items. There was a hiss, and smoke, and then Benedicts clean, bleached skull and spine were placed upon the one blank wall. His first kill... and he intended to make sure it was only the first of many.

Even from the rooftops, where Francesca made her brood, the victorious, snarling wail of the creature was heard.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lidia jerked as if waking from a nightmare, the kind that didn't throw you awake, but caused a moment of confusion, as the dream world and the real one slowly separated. Slowly, she sat up, swinging her legs over to perch on the edge of the Animus.

She was a spitting image of her ancestor, a thin and athletic woman, tall and with eyes the shade of faded dollar bills. Hair like fire threaded into wool hung down between her shoulder blades, slightly wavy. She shrugged her white hoody close, hugging her shoulders, shivering from more then just the air conditioning. The memory of Francesca's encounter was fresh in her mind, and she swore she could feel the warmth of Benedicts blood on her chest.

The Animus machine didn't match the room she was in. While it was sleek and white, the building was dull, dark and grey, square and almost blocky, like it came from a box and unfolded, constructed with ease. This was not just an impression. The words "Weyland-Yutani" were painted white across the grey metal wall, next to a clear observation window.

"Didja get all of that? Because I'm not f**king going back in if I don't have to..." Her course voice went quiet with the last few words and she suppressed a shudder, pushing up onto her feet and rubbing her arms. "Where's my smokes? I need a f**king smoke"

She was shaken, restless, the adrenaline and fear of Francesca bleeding over, lingering, causing her to pace and fidget. It usually took a moment or two for her to separate, but this time was worse. She could feel that monsters eyes on her, and it refused to leave for a few tense moments, in which she barked for her cigarette's again.

One of the white robed scientists came in with a metal tray, which contained a bowl of hot stew and bottled water, but she snatched up the cigarette's and Zippo from the tray, almost tearing the top off and pulling out one crumpled stick, cupping the flame as she lit it.

"Don't worry Sargent Dallas, we got everything. You should be fine to rest today" She relaxed, drawing on the cigarette and pushing back up to sit on the Animus, taking the tray and shooting the scientist an apologetic look, but there was a hint of a glare there, and he took the hint and left quickly.

"How many times we gotta do this before you start calling me Lidia?" She breathed, draining the bowel quickly, not caring for table manners. She was ravenous after her Animus sessions usually, and though her dehydration paled in comparison to her hunger, she drained the bottle just as quickly.

"So when are you guna tell me what the f**k I just saw in there? Is this what you dragged me from my Platoon for? That thing?"

The three scientists at the other end of the glass exchanged glances. "Ms Dallas, perhaps you should head to the rec room-" She slammed her tray on the Animus next to her hip, the bowl and bottle clattering to the ground loudly, silencing them.

"No, f**k you! I don't wanna watch any of your calming movies and play tennis, I want some f**king answers! What the f**k was that thing?" She seethed, and after a few moments of stunned silence, she backed down, feeling quite embarrassed.

"S-sorry... I'm a little shaky at the moment..." She rubbed her arms, the shudder returning. "We understand Ms Dallas, the effects of the Animus sessions can take some getting used to. You've seen the reports on the earlier sessions, so we want to take it slow, make sure you don't get any of those negative effects"

"It's Lidia..." She breathed, not quite a growl, but with the same irritated edge to it. "I-I need to lay down... are we done? Can I go?" She fumbled about for a new cigarette and tried to cup the flame, even though there was no breeze in this still room. It was a nervous tick of hers.

"Are we done? Can I go?" The voice echoed, distorted, repeating several times, changing it's pitch and tone. The viewing modes changed, and a targeting reticle rushed through the multitude of buildings on the secluded colony, singling out the Animus Chamber. A red figure sat on the cool blue and green of the Animus, a small prick of red in it's heart, fading as the machine powered down.

"Are we d-d-done yet... Can I go?. It's Lidia. Start calling me Lidia" The Predator perched on the top of the guard tower, arm resting on his thick knee, growling, marking the woman in his visor, and the three in the observation room. He reached up to touch under his eye, where two long self inflicted marks crossed down his temple to his chin. It was the mark of his mission, his promise...

Growling, he stood and activated his cloak, clawed fingers tapping at the device on his arm, and then all that was left of him was the lingering clicking. Lidia shuddered once more, but this time, it had nothing to do with the Animus.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

No Rest perched on the edge of the greenhouse, the vista that was Venice stretching out in all directions, a cobbled collection of rooftops and spires and towers spreading up, broken by the occasional house of worship, standing tall above it's peers. Their religious beliefs intrigued No Rest. Why they felt the buildings had to be so big, he did not know, but he could not suppress a humoured thought. 'Compensating...'

He watched the crowd's, like liquid magma flowing through the streets, red and orange weaving through the green. He cycled a few filter's, until everything was dark and blue, as if seen through some kind of x-ray, and one bob of golden light hurried through an alleyway. Got you, No Rest thought...

Marking a man with his visor was not something that lasted. Sometimes, No Rest cursed his peoples tradition of limiting the technology they bring, but then he would think to how easily the trophies would be gained... his frustrations could be suppressed, if it meant an honourable kill.

"Ishal! Ishal, let me in, I beg you!" The gold highlighted man pounded on a door in an alleyway, looking nervously over his shoulder. He perked at the name, and knew his hunch had been right. Ishal was Benedicts local partner, and this cowardly worker of his had brought him right to him. The whole operation had locked down after Benedicts grisly murder. Ishal had right to be afraid.

"For the love of His name, open the door!" No Rest dropped almost silently into the alley, feet landing in a small puddle with a splash. The man turned like a frightened cat, and caught a glimpse of the creature. A ripple travelled up through the cloak, a second of colour that seeped away as he stepped forward.

"Oh Lord... oh, though I walk in the shadow of the Valley of the Damned..." he chanted in a shaky voice, dropping to his knee's and pulling out a crucifix on a chain, mumbling the words and holding it to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. "I shall fear no evil..."

No Rest, however, walked straight past him, and wrapped his glimmering mirage of a hand about the doors handle. Like it was nothing but match sticks, he tore it from the wall, splintering it and wrenching iron locks from the mortar. Giving the cowering man no further heed, he stepped inside, and the shouts of confused and frightened men followed.

"Ishal! We must leave!" a dark skinned man in a faded yellow robe came stumbling into the room, followed by a group of hastily armed mercenaries. Some were still buckling their armour on. No Rest, perched in the upper section of the warehouse, scanned them, one by one, noting their weapons. Three of the ever common flat blades he had seen, a long pole with a bladed end, and an axe... five men in total, flanking a hastily dressed man. This would be easy.

Ishal was pulling the travelling cloak about himself, looking about the room, as if expecting an ambush at any second. "Assassin? She's here?" "I don't think so..." A silence followed, and everyone thought of the incident at the fair. Whispers of 'Demon' had followed the event, and the thought of something more deadly then an Assassin trailing them made all of them shudder in their cloaks.

"Bring the horses" "No time, we're meeting them outside, I don't want to stay in the... what in the Lord's name?" A three pointed targeting reticle had appeared on Ishal, hovering on his chest, and then up to his brow. Frozen, the man followed beam, and saw the shimmer of light in the rafters. His legs shook, and his men turned to face No Rest.

Out of no where, a white figure descended from the roof, dropping onto two guards, hands on their necks, pinning them down on the floor. Francesca rose, hands bloody, and grabbed the nearest man's axe, pushing the end to the dirty floor and stepping inside of his reach, a leg placed between his. Her Hidden Blade came into his stomach, causing him to gasp, eyes widen, and then slumped back.

As the third man rushed her, sword held at the ready, he jabbed behind her with the backhanded axe, the end colliding with his nose and stunning him. With a fluid movementl, she spun to face him, the axe twirling over her hand so it was held in the proper fashion. Rearing it back, she brought it down, and sliced into his chest with a sickening squelch.

Putting her boot into his stomach, she pushed him back and wrenched the bloody axe from him, then swung wide and hard at the staff carrying mercenary. The heavy blade collided hard with his polearm, forcing him back a step and splintering it. The second hit came hard enough to break the weapon in two, and the ace lodged itself into the man's helmet. He grunted, took a step back, and collapsed.

Ishal stood, shaking, watching in horror as Francesca slowly turned to face him, her white hood pulled up to conceal much of her face. She took a step forward, and Ishal panicked, falling back onto his rear and trying to clamber onto his hands and knee's so he could flee.

Francesca didn't give him the chance. Grabbing him by his cloak, she yanked him so he fell onto his back, and placed her boot on his chest. "Goodnight Ishal" She hunched down, grabbing his throat, and the Hidden Blade sunk into his jugular. Ishal's eyes widened, and in a few seconds, his head fell back, and a red pool of blood started to trickle across the fall.

Slowly rising, Francesca looked around the warehouse, and her eyes met for a second with No Rest. He stayed perfectly still, but he knew he had been seen. Francesca and No Rest glared at each other for a good long moment, and then the Assassin turned to leave. "It's not very nice to take what's not yours"

Clicking curiously, he targeted her, marking her in gold. He had seen her before... the one that had danced with Benedict. His reticle went to her arm, and found a metal device, under each wrist. Playing back the recording of the last kill in his visor, he focused on the woman that had danced with his quarry, and saw a small blade popping out behind her fan.

"Not very nice to take what's not yours" He repeated, in a warped, yet still quite feminine voice. "Not... very... nice..."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

Living under artificial light wasn't usually so bad. When you had constant control over when it was bright, and when it was dark, when it was still and cold and when the heat pressed down, you didn't really develope a body clock, so much as a switch. But Lidia had not yet adjusted, used to the harsh outdoors, with her troops, where man was still at the mercy of nature. Here, hiding in this metal box that shielded everyone from forces such as wind and sun, she was still stuck in that uncomfortable in-between region.

The lights flipped on one by one, bringing her doll house world into view, and she was sitting up in her bed from pure force of habit rather then concious decision. In nothing but a set of white underwear, which she always wore over the more feminine panties, given a choice, her light, pale skin, so typical for one with her hair colour, made her blend in with her box like, pristine white bed. She bowed her head and concentrated, mentally sweeping the cobwebs from her mind, ignoring the man in medical green that came in to lay a tray on her table. She was unashamed in her nudity, and she liked to be alone during her morning rituals anyway, her indecency discouraging any conversation from her 'nurse' as she called him.

There was comfort in the familiarity of a morning. Bowing over her sink to brush her teeth, rinsing and washing her face, counting down the seconds as her food cooled, knowing exactly when it would be the right temperature. But even so, she was born and bred into chaos, and none of that existed here. Out of the simple need for a change, she ignored her food a small while longer and sheared her head in front of the mirror.

"Ah, the classic buzzcut" The speakers toned as she stepped into the Animus area, the black shadows of scientists showing up against the cloudy glass. For once, she didn't exchange words with them. She was tired, and her body felt wrong, like the lack of any worldly force to guide her instincts was making her feel dull or sick. She had always hated space travel, but at least there was some sense of movement there. Here, everything was just... still.

"Let's get this over with..." She eventually mumbled and slid onto the Animus without complaint. The day had barely begun, and already, she wished it were over. She wanted to be in the rec room, wailing on the sand bags, playing wall tennis, anything to just feel that burning in her muscles, and the familiar pounding of blood in her head.

There was a dull, painless sensation, hard to describe, and within the span of a heart beat that felt more to her like several minutes of nothing, she was standing in an endless expanse of blue. It was clouded with what appeared to be mist, but upon closer inspection was small bits of code, almost like DNA strands, flocking and floating, some even darting by. She had seen it many times before, the all purpose simulation matter that would be tricking her into feeling wind on her neck, sweat matting her clothes, the suns heat, vertigo...

Taking a few small steps, she looked around and could see colour, the same you get behind your eyes when you take a good hit to the face. It's there, but you can't really describe it so well... it's more like an excess of sensory stimulation that you can't rightly comprehend. She watched her hands as she walked, as the skin tone subtly changed, the scar on her ring finger melting into view, and lines of white dashed across the floor under her vision, drawing out the tiles that were forming under her sturdy boots. She looked up and saw the marketplace forming around her, the skeletal frames of people gaining form and colour, sounds and smells assaulting her as the horizon grew, towers and buildings constructing themselves as if they were made of blocks.

There was an unperceived popping, like a release of static, as the simulation completed it's construction, Lidia stepping seamlessly into Francesca's mind, not even breaking pace.

Her hands were wet with blood, hidden in the dark green hooded cloak that she wrapped around herself. Her footsteps were slow but there was purpose behind them, and shouts coming from the markets behind her. Even with the sun only now reaching it's zenith, the streets were packed with shoppers. Perfect cover for her kill.

She could hear a group of guards shoving pedestrians around, getting closer to her, and as she entered the shade of an alleyway, she saw yet another group of them ahead of her, shoving a store owner and barking a few words she didn't hear. They must have seen her when she left, because she picked out the words 'green hood' from his lip movements, and the store keepers eyes darted to the side and caught hers. He hesitated, but the burly man followed his gaze and put his hand on the old man's chest, shoving him aside and striding forward.

Francesca had already slipped through a door to her left, coming into a dank, unpaved room with a few water damaged boxes piled up in one corner. Her boots pounded the loose wood and then scuffed at the walls as she scampered up a few feet, hunching and then kicking off, darting up into the rafters. She had barely perched when the door flew open and the guards came pouring in, hands on their swords, looking about the tiny room, ready to draw. There wasn't much room in here... it was best she make some room for them and leave.

Dropping silently behind them, she slipped out and shouldered the door closed. She pulled down the wooden plank to lock it, dashing down the street, smirking to herself as she heard the outraged cry of the guards and the pounding on the door. The thrill of the chase... it never failed to set her veins alight.

Ducking into an alleyway off of the street, she dropped a hook from her sleeve, which dangled on the end of a chain. She twirled it and swung, latching onto a sturdy bit of iron in one of the green houses where the markets would dry their herbs. She scuffled up the wall and blended in with the dull greens, just another mass of leaves, completely unseen as the now free group of guards trudged by, shouting.

When she dropped back down into the mud, her cloak was gone, now in her much cooler under clothes, a simple set of tan shawls, she stepped into the moving crowds and simply disappeared.

Standing atop one of the roof top pigeon coops, she tied the blood stained feather to one of the birds delicate legs, cradling it on it's back in her strong hand. It cocked it's head and gave a small kick, but other wise stayed still. It twisted when she threw it up, throwing it's wings out and giving a few furious beats to right it's position before darting off with confirmation of her kill. It would get there sooner then her, and the sky was getting dark now. The guards had been more ferocious then she expected, and her escape had not been so easy. A few more hours of eluding them had followed, and she only just now managed to far enough away to risk getting a carrier pigeon.

She was sweating, chest heaving slightly. She knew why they were so persistent. Il Diavolo di Venezia. The Devil of Venice. That's all the people were talking about... the unseen demon. She couldn't blame them.

Dropping down into the now empty alleyway, she was immediately met with several armed guards, swords drawn. Damn, she thought... they had been waiting for her. She turned, and several more stepped out to block her exit. The burly man with the squashed nose she had seen before was at their head, smirking. "Well well well... what do we have here. A merry chase you've lead us on Assassin"

As he spoke, the men fanned out, feet spread, ready to intercept an escape, moving in. Her mind whirred, eyes darting to assess her situation. This man was good... he had trapped her somewhere she wouldn't have much chance of climbing out of. It was just two smooth walls, an archway above, and an old, unused green house that she didn't feel she could trust with a breath of wind, let alone her own weight.

Carefully, she reached down to push the shawls back, the hilt of her dagger showing, while she palmed something in her other hand, stepped back and threading something through her fingers. When the first man made his move, she fed the hook and chain through her hand and swung it, hitting the green house and yanking it down. The rusted metal gave way easily and a mound of dried soil and old plants came crashing down on the advancing men on one side. There wasn't enough weight there to do any real damage, but a minute of dirty eyes and mouths was a minute they weren't were trading steel with her.

Turning, the hook still attached to the swinging metal frame, she took her dagger out just in time to catch a short sword coming down at her, the blades sliding until they were meeting at the hand guards. He shoved at her, but her boots braced into the dirt and she ducked so most of his forward strength send him off balance, coming up under his guard and bringing her knee to his groin. His eyes flew open and she backstepped in a neat twirl, her dagger slicing through his throat and the chain coiling around her arms to remove the slack.

Without wasting any time, she flicked her wrist, the movement travelling up the chain and dislodging it from the greenhouse, swinging it down so it clapped over a guards helmet, sending him reeling, clattering across the ground. Winding it around her fist, she yanked, and the hook latched onto the back of another guards ankle, pulling his legs out from under him and putting him on his back.

Stepping around in a 180 and winding the slack as she did, she swung wide at the four men who were still struggling with the collapsed greenhouse, the metal hook smacking the first man's wrist and disarming him, clapping over the others thigh and sending him dancing back with a yelp of pain.

There she stood, twirling the chain, panting and trying not to let the strain show, the men circling her like a pack of wild dogs trying to bring down an injured but raging ox. More men had entered the alley way, more then she could handle. The chain could only hold them back so long. She needed a way out.

The man with the squashed nose snarled and swiped at the air in frustration as he stepped up, pacing with her, eyes never leaving that chain, jumping back to avoid her cautionary swings. When the hook wrapped around his sword, he dug his feet in and ripped the hook right out of her hands, sending her forward onto her face.

She was done for... she knew it. She scrambled to her feet, but she was counting the seconds down, expecting the first sword blow to come down on her unprotected back. Her mind screamed at her to get up, but her body said to curl up and cover her head, her movements becoming a confused tug-of-war between the two.

And then, all of the hairs on her neck stood up, and her nerves suddenly ran with ice water. Like a centerpede crawling up the back of her neck, she heard that same low, shuddering series of clicks.

"Diavolo! Diavo-" The guards scream was cut short, the sound of something fast whizzing by, with a wet slicing sound and a gurgling. the whizzing came again, and she almost felt it zip past her shoulder, which caused her to instinctually cover her head with her arms. Several more screams and wet tearing sounds followed, blood splashing onto her back, and then, silence.

She was breathing fast, a clump of dirt pressed close to her mouth, body shaking. Slowly, her unresponsive limbs spread out and she pushed herself up onto one knee, raising to stand and looking around the now deathly silent alley. In all her years of training and professional kills, never had she seen so much blood at once. The metallic scent of it hit her nose and travelled down to her stomach, twisting it and making the figs she had eaten almost come back up. She felt queasy... no blade she had ever seen could do such damage to a human body.

Bodies lay in pieces, the stumps so clean they could only have been made with one surgically precise strike, the flesh and muscle and bone all carved evenly. She had seen a butcher sharpen his knives and still have to chop furiously a few times just to get through the muscle mass, and he had to bring out the bone saw to finish it off. Intestines had spilled into the dirt, purple and black and red and yellow... she had never seen a man gutted. She had stabbed a few in the stomach, but never had she opened one up to the point where he just... fell out.

Her knees were shaking, heart racing, the daggers handle gripped with white knuckles, chest thudding. She could feel her hurried breathing and pounding heart in her ears, like a drum, eyes darting around, looking for it... for Il Diavolo di Venezia.

Her hairs stood up from a kick of static, a crossing network of red beams cutting off the alleyway behind her, humming. She had barely turned around when a second set hissed across the air on the other side, blocking her off completely. There was a thud, and a swirling of dust, and as she focused her eyes, she saw the wavering outline of something tall, thick, and man shaped.

The hissing, clicking sound rattled again, and a set of yellow eyes flashed, a yellow disc humming to life in it's hand. It's synthetic voice mirrored hers.

"Not... very... nice..."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Lidia woke with a start. The image of No-Rest faded from her memory, as it became just that, a memory... a second hand account of something. There was always a few seconds of sluggishness as Francesca's identity would ebb away, and she would no longer feel her fear or excitement as her own. It always left a shadow of itself, however, and was stronger each time... even though she had not stood before the creature personally, there was a dull shadow of that fear still in her.

Breathing slowly and closing her eyes again, she calmed herself. "Short session... guessing that's the thing your looking for then. Guys?" When silence was all that followed she opened her eyes and looked around. The hairs stood on the back of her neck as she sat up, cautiously peering around. All seemed still and right...

"Hey, come on, talk to me guys..." She swore under her breath, pushing off and landing on her feet, breath quickening slightly. Something wasn't right... and then she noticed that the observation window had grown dark. It was a black strip, about 15 feet above her, just below the roof. Taking a slow, cautious step, she peered into the cloudy glass.

"Hello? Stop f**king with me..." And then, the speaker rattled, a familiar male voice coming through. It sounded slightly off pitch. "Get onto the Animus Sergeant Dallas" She had relaxed for barely a heartbeat. "There a power problem or something guys?"

The same voice, the same line, repeated. It was eerie. Her hairs were already sticking up, but that might have well sent them skyward. Taking a slow backwards, she reached behind her to feel along the smooth surface of the service tray next to the Animus, looking for something, anything, to pick up...

"Sergeant Dallas..." The pitch fell to a menacing growl, and the busted light finally popped, the small eruption of sparks lighting up the inside of the observation room a few second, the glass smeared with crimson. A tall, broad shouldered silhouette stood out in the weakly flickering light, like a figure behind a wall of paper, lit by a flickering candle. As the light died in earnest, two yellow eyes flashed, and the room echoed with a series of clicks.

Before Lidia could act, a large, scaly green hand came through the glass, and the Predator shouldered through, dropping into a crouch. With lightning speed that something that big shouldn't have possessed, it came for her, almost the millisecond it had landed, like a charging bull.

Crying out, her movements a fusion of ingrained training and panic, eyes wide, she gripped the light metal cart and hurled it side arm. It simply bounced off of him. She might as well have been throwing it before a freight train. In the span of an inhaled breath it had it's fingers around her throat, shoving her back, bending backwards over the Animus. She tried to scream, but it's thick fingers had closed her throat so it could only take in the smallest, slowest of breaths.

Peering down at her was a mask of dark grey metal, flawless and new, the only marks on it two long streaks down one eye. The eyes at first looked like black glass, but she could see they were segmented, like a dragonfly's, complex and intricate. Tube like extensions that she couldn't describe fell down the shoulder of the arm that crushed her, so alike hair, yet she couldn't describe what exactly it was made of... like a fusion of rubber and metal fibres, gold coloured rings along each one at regular, neat intervals.

While it towered a full head over her, she gained the impression that it was young... it was certainly much smaller then No-Rest, and the thick arm that dominated her lower vision was also much leaner, even though it could have crushed her windpipe with a flex. It's armour was also as new as it's mask, at least what she could see of it, though her knee, which was pushed against it's chest, felt the familiar resistance of flesh and muscle. It's throat rattled and clicked, the sound low and ominous.

"Get onto the Animus"


End file.
